


i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

by shoulderbladesarewings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 04:46:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5483969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderbladesarewings/pseuds/shoulderbladesarewings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Louis finally gets why Zayn had to leave the band and why the drama happened especially with the two of them. And so they meet up in London and they end up sharing a cigarette, and talking things through, with a first kiss at the end</p>
            </blockquote>





	i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)

**Author's Note:**

> i think this is the first work i've done based off a prompt (excluding fic exchanges) and it was so much fun so feel free to send me more :)

It’s been nine months since Zayn left and Louis still looks for him onstage. He forgets, and it’s their favourite lyric in Happily _(if he feels my traces in your ha-a-air)_ or it’s coming up to Zayn’s old high note in _You and I_ and he fucking forgets and he’ll scan the entire space searching for him and then he’ll remember and it’s like getting punched in the throat, every single time, so Harry has to start his verse because he can barely sing through the shock and the pain.

   And afterwards, when the adrenaline’s fading and his ears are still ringing and Harry’s shooting him worried looks from across the room, he’ll type out a text to him. **_I fucking miss you_** or **_You’re a dickhead_** or **_My heart is breaking and I want to cut you up on the pieces._**

   But he never sends them.

   The others aren’t much help, although they try to be. Harry crawls into Louis’s bed most nights and holds him, but when he tries to take it further Louis always wriggles away, stumbles out into the night to the tour bus instead because Harry’s not enough anymore, he doesn’t even know when that happened because God, there was a time when they were teenagers that he wanted to marry him, but things changed and when their management cracked down on them they split apart as easily as an eggshell breaking.

   And it was Zayn who’d been there for Louis when the messiness overwhelmed them all; when Louis lay awake crying until four in the morning because Harry was with Niall or Cara or just not with him; when he had to shoulder the burden of denying everything in interviews because Harry didn’t want to be responsible for their fandom trying to eat itself alive; when Louis just needed to be held and soothed and told that he was better than this, this gritty world that had stolen his soul.

   Liam is even worse, turning it into a joke, making cracks about needing an extra vote when they split down the middle in meetings, or having a spare when there are five sweets left in the packet. He does this to make them forget the days when he and Zayn would show up to breakfast with salt on their tongues and stains on their shirts, their eyes hooded and their faces pink with shame, and Louis understands sort of but he still hates him for it a little and he hates himself even more for that so outwardly he brims with affection toward Liam, so much so that the other three start to truly believe that Louis doesn’t need Zayn’s friendship anymore.

   But he does, more than anything. He misses their late night smoking sessions in the studios after the producers had gone back to their bunks. He misses skateboarding with him down dark foreign streets, stealing chocolate from newsagents for the thrill and leaving fifty-pound notes on the counter. He misses his smell, his soft skin, his sparkling-water eyes.

   Niall actually helps the most, because he just doesn’t talk about it. He cried for a bit, like they all did those first few days, and then he got up and carried on and that’s been the saving grace for all of them, really.

   It wouldn’t be this bad if it hadn’t ended the way it did, with Louis walking in on Zayn packing a suitcase that day, wearing Liam’s sweatshirt (Louis remembers that because the cuffs fell halfway down his hands and he could still see how badly they were shaking).

   _Zayn?_ he’d said, and Zayn had whipped around like he’d screamed.

   _Lou,_ he’d whispered. _I’m sorry, I…I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. I need to leave._

Louis remembers how everything went hazy (and didn’t right itself for days afterwards). He felt the tremors cascading through his own body as Zayn returned to his suitcase, zipped it closed, and then turned back to him and folded his arms, every inch of himself on the defence.

   _Why?_ Louis croaked. Strange, how he’d instantly believed him. Leaving was something they didn’t joke about. It hit too close to home, for all the times they’d wanted to. Because of course they’d all had their moments, after a particularly awful article or that time a fan broke into Liam’s bedroom and stole his boxers and he’d been scared for ages afterwards, double-locking everything with the precision of a madman. But he doesn’t think any of them had ever said out loud _I need to leave._

   Zayn’s eyes were wet. _I just…I woke up this morning and I…the walls were closing in, Lou. They’ve been doing it for ages but it was worse today._

_You should have come and found me. I would have made it right._

_It’s not something you can fix,_ Zayn snapped. _I’ve had five fucking therapists and none of them knew what to do with me. Two of them straight up told me I’d never get better if I didn’t get out of here. But I stayed for so long for…for you, for you guys, because I knew you needed me and that helped, being needed helped…but, Lou, it’s not enough anymore. You’re not enough._

   Louis felt like he couldn’t breathe. _Zayn. Please._

   _I’m sorry,_ he muttered, not meeting his eye. _I wasn’t gonna say goodbye. I knew I’d do it wrong. I knew I’d fuck it up, just like everything else._ He blinked hard. _I bet you anything all Harry will be worried about is our fans, how much I’ve hurt them. Liam will be relieved that he doesn’t have to tiptoe around me anymore. Niall, though, God, hug him for me. Hug him a lot._

   Louis was barely listening anymore. He was watching the world walk out of his life. _Please,_ he repeated dumbly.

   Zayn pulled his suitcase off the bed and stood it up on its wheels. He walked over to Louis tentatively, like he was expecting him to freak out (even though it was Zayn who freaked out, Zayn who punched walls, Zayn who) and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. _I love you,_ he whispered. _Let someone love you. Bye, Lou._

   Louis hasn’t spoken to him since. Liam’s called him a couple of times, probably out of guilt, but Louis can’t face it, knowing he’ll cry and that Zayn will probably hang up. He wrote songs instead, pain pouring out of him, every word a physical wrench at his heart. _Unforgettable, together held the whole world in our hands. I try to forgive you but I’m struggling cos I don’t know how. Without you here I realise life is just a lie._

   Part of him wanted them to just be for him but when they have their vote on which songs will make it onto the album nearly all of his get approved and no one seems to notice how sick he feels inside, can’t stomach the idea of all those people listening to the raw pieces of his heart.

 

*

But their album comes out, and it’s dizzying and wonderful and terrifying, and Louis wonders how many people know what _Love You Goodbye_ is really about, whether they think it’s about Eleanor or Harry, when he sees the hashtags screaming about his lyrics and his voice. It should make him happy but it doesn’t, not really, because he’s forgotten how to be happy.

   Then, a week after the release date, Louis gets a call from an unknown number. He ignores it, assuming some fan threatened it out of a thrice-removed family member – but then the caller leaves a message and he hears it, hears Zayn’s voice, and it’s like a tripwire wrapped around his heart. He wonders when Harry removed Zayn’s number from his phone.

   ‘Lou? I listened to the album.’ A long pause, but just hearing his breathing is like a miracle. ‘It’s good, really good, amazing.’ Another pause. ‘But you know if I’d stayed, it wouldn’t be any different. I love you guys, but you always had what you wanted sussed out. You voted out my songs every time.’

   _That’s not true,_ Louis wants to protest – except it is. They were always too heavy; too soulful; too removed from their sound. Zayn’s right. The album would be better, their harmonies richer, their climax notes more daring, but it wouldn’t be different, not really.

   He feels a tear roll down his face. No wonder Zayn felt like the walls were closing in. No one listened to him. No one let him be amazing.

   ‘But it’s honestly beautiful,’ he continues, his voice a little stronger. ‘The lyrics, Lou, they’re unbelievable. I wish I could have been there when you were writing.’ He hesitates. ‘But…I think if I was there, you probably wouldn’t have wrote them. Right?’ Another pause, then a sigh. ‘I guess you’re not gonna pick up. That’s OK. I didn’t call for, like, absolution, some _Breakfast at Tiffanys_ bullshit but…’ But he sounds uncertain. ‘I miss you. So much. Someone made an audio of all your solos on the new album and I listen to it every night. You’ve got the most amazing voice, Lou. It’s like an angel. You’re so…’ His voice cracks, and he quickly clears his throat. ‘I should go. I’m sorry I called. I just thought you’d…’

   Louis picks up, presses the phone to his ear, cradling it like a child. ‘Thought I’d what?’

   ‘Lou,’ Zayn breathes, and Louis feels it in his chest like a lock clicking.

   ‘Thought I’d what?’ he repeats tightly. This is the least Zayn owes him after nine months of silence. ‘Tell me.’

   ‘Thought you’d…be here,’ Zayn finishes weakly.

   Louis knows that’s not what he was going to say, and it makes his blood boil. ‘I wrote you three fucking songs and that’s the best you can do?’

   ‘I want to see you.’ Pause. ‘Do you want to see me?’

   ‘Why do you want to see me?’ Louis says shortly.

   ‘Because you’re my best friend and I miss the fuck out of you,’ he bites back. ‘Please. Don’t play cool. Come and see me.’ A slight smirk creeps into his voice. ‘I know you want to.’

   ‘You don’t know me,’ Louis says coldly. Zayn isn’t allowed to take the piss out of him right now. He doesn’t get that.

   But when Zayn apologises, Louis does agree to meet him, and an hour later they’re both standing, shivering, outside a little London coffee shop they used to duck into sometimes when Harry was on a date with Nick Grimshaw and Louis wanted to keep close in case something happened (Louis never liked Nick, thought he was creepy, and he was glad when Harry, however inexplicably, began to push him away).

   They don’t go in. It feels too much like erasing the slate and Louis needs, right now, for the last nine months to have happened, needs them acknowledged or it’ll drive him crazy.

   And Zayn does, after he’s hugged him, and Louis feels him breathe in so deep, like he’s trying to trap him in his lungs like the smoke they used to shotgun in the tour bus. So Louis feels safe inhaling a little too, Zayn’s safe smell of nicotine and whisky. He’s been suffocated these last few months by Harry’s flowery perfume; Liam’s Lynx deodorant; Niall’s astronomically expensive cologne. He’s been needing this so badly. Needing Zayn.

   ‘I had to leave,’ Zayn whispers as he pulls away, leaving Louis cold and empty inside. ‘I’m so sorry, but I’ll never regret it. My _body_ was breaking down, Lou. The doctors wanted to put me on a drip.’

   ‘You should have told me.’

   ‘I know.’ He looks up, and it’s black on blue and it’s beautiful and Louis wants to be enveloped in those eyes. ‘I do regret that. I just…there was a reason I haven’t told you, yet, why I was so unhappy, why I couldn’t stay. But I don’t know if I can tell you.’

   ‘Why not?’ Louis murmurs. ‘I’ll understand, I promise. At the very least, I’ll try to. Was it…’ he hesitates. ‘Was it Liam?’

   Zayn lets out a short burst of laughter. ‘Fuck, Lou, Liam and I were over long ago. I couldn’t hold onto him. I did, for too long, but not anymore. No.’ He blinks three times, quickly, like he’s trying to get rid of tears. When he speaks again, his voice is softer than a kiss. ‘Someone else.’

   Louis’s mouth goes dry. Stupidly, he scans the other possibilities. Harry? Niall? _Julian?_

   But he knows, really. He thinks he’s known for a long time. He’s just been scared. Scared that Zayn would turn out to be another Harry. That they’ve both been ruined for real relationships. That they’ve been cynicism-stripped of their ability to love.

   He should say all this. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says ‘You took my heart with you when you left.’

   Zayn’s eyes turn to liquid; melted molten gold. ‘I had to. I left mine behind.’

   Louis takes a step forward – and then Zayn catches his face in his hands and they’re kissing, hard, helplessly, and Louis thinks for a moment that he’s crying because there’s dampness on his cheek, but then he feels it on his shoulders and his hands and he realises that it’s raining, pouring down around them like…

   _‘Breakfast at Tiffanys,’_ he smiles against Zayn’s mouth.

   Zayn’s lips curve too. _‘Moon river…’_ he croons softly, wrapping his arms around Louis’s waist and tipping him back slightly, almost a dip. _‘Wider than a mile, I’m crossing you in style someday…’_

   Louis doesn’t sing back. He just listens, warmth swelling in his chest like a wave. For the first time in, he thinks, his life, he feels safe. It was never like this with Harry, always waiting for the sky to fall in. The sky is falling, in water and thunder, and it’s still beautiful.

   He tucks his head under Zayn’s chin, inhaling him like cigarette smoke, and listens to his heart.


End file.
